That Which Has Been Lost
by grumkinsnark
Summary: She won't let herself be defined by a boy, a boy who left her at that. And yet the memory of Tyler, of their transcendent connection, of him pressed against her, remains. She wishes it weren't there, that she could continue hating him, but she can't.


_There may be a slight issue with the timeline vis-à-vis the full moon and such, but pretend there isn't._

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><p><strong>That Which Has Been Lost<strong>

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><p>She doesn't even think about it.<p>

Ever since she'd found out Tyler was a werewolf, she'd circled the full moons on her calendar. Like the past few months, she heads out into the forest, her hair tied back and her resolve strengthened.

She enters the Lockwood cellar, sidestepping cracks in the floor. She wonders idly why the lanterns aren't already lit, but thinks nothing of it. "Tyler?" she calls as she steps into the cage.

It's only when she sees the chains, empty, lying on the flagstone unused, that she remembers.

_He's gone_.

It hits her like a ton of bricks. She sits down slowly in the center of the room, imagining herself back to that first transformation, when she and Tyler still weren't all that close, holding him to her chest as if she could take some of the pain away. Gently running her hand through his short hair and her fingers down his cheek. Gladly giving him her hand he'd sought out. It was a defining moment, she knew that as it was happening. They were no longer just acquaintances. They were more.

But now…

She pulls her knees up to her chest, staring at the ground. It's so quiet. That's what really gets her. Whenever she'd been in here, there'd always been _life_. Even if it was Tyler's agonizing screams or his pawing the dirt as a wolf or her tears because of how much he was hurting, there was always _something_. Now it's just…nothing.

She thinks of what she said to him, when he'd come to her house. How she'd yelled and slammed the door straight in his face. She knows she had every right to—the memories of the torture she endured still make her shiver—but seeds of regret fill her more each day he doesn't come home. If she'd have known her words would make him leave for good…

As her thoughts drift into blank space, a peculiar scent assaults her. She frowns, looking up as if to see someone there, but there isn't. It takes her just a moment to realize what it is. Perhaps she hadn't noticed before because she'd been so concentrated on sorrow, or before that because it was always around, but she knows immediately to whom it belongs. A mix of cedar and leather—and, she laughs softly, a little wet dog—it's irrefutably _Tyler_.

He's not here, and yet he is. It's here, in the room she would hold him through his transformation, and it's on her, too. Too faint for humans to pick up (she's not sure if Stefan or Damon ever had, and if so why they'd never mentioned it), but she does. She can't decide whether it's a good thing or a bad thing.

She settles on bad, however, when all it serves is to bring up memories of him, of them, of him allowing himself to be so vulnerable in her presence, of her being able to admit to him and only him that she'd killed someone. They had—_have_—a connection, without a doubt. Substantially different than the one between her and Matt. That one she has is…less. She feels strongly towards him, but there's just something _not there_ that's present between her and Tyler. They're linked by something beyond friendship. Not quite romance, but definitely more than "Hey, what's up?" friends.

A part of her feels like it's missing. She wants to hate him, wants to feel homicidal for him not helping her, but she can't. She's beyond pissed, but the hate isn't there. She can't find it in herself to hate him. She doesn't think she ever could. They share something—and she _knows_ he feels it too—that she can't explain, but is impossible to vanquish. Just a few months ago she wouldn't bat an eye if Tyler left forever. Now…it's debilitating. She hadn't recognized just how much he meant to her until now. And it sucks.

There's a jacket left in the cellar that her eyes catch in the darkness, and she slowly rises to make her way over to it. The leather is soft in her hands, and more than familiar. It's not a random piece of clothing used to cover him after the transformation—no, this is a jacket he'd worn many times over, at school, at home, with her. She thinks briefly maybe he'd left in on purpose, but shoots that idea down. More than likely he'd just forgotten about it.

Caroline heaves a sigh and without a second's hesitation pulls it on, _Tyler_ engulfing her again. It's entirely too large for her, but it doesn't matter. If she imagines hard enough, it's still warm from the hundred-and-five temperature Tyler runs, the only heat that her stone-cold skin has ever been able to feel.

* * *

><p>Matt doesn't ask her about the jacket the next day at school. It's obvious he recognizes it—he's seen Tyler wear it all the time—and his face does that scrunched up thing, like he's just eaten a particularly sour lemon, but Caroline guesses he's trying out that "trust" thing. It's significantly hard for him, however, because in addition to wearing clothes of Tyler's, she's unusually quiet. Never in his seventeen years of knowing her had she ever been anything short of bubbly and upbeat. Even when she was down on herself, or an event didn't go the way she'd planned, she was always hopeful.<p>

But not now. Now, her face is perpetually lax, and she constantly plays with the cuffs at the end of the too-long coat.

Finally, he can't take it anymore. The Thursday after Tyler leaves, he comes up to Caroline at lunch and asks, "Are you…okay?"

Caroline starts a little, and then looks up from the sandwich she'd barely touched. "What? Oh. Yeah, I'm fine," she replies. "Why?"

He tries to keep the incredulous expression at bay. "You've just been, uh, not acting yourself," he settles. It's hard for him to do, this concerned-but-not-prying boyfriend thing. "Does it—I mean, are you—is it Tyler?"

Caroline is careful to keep her face expressionless. She would really rather not get into this right now, with Matt of all people. He'd already apparently caught onto her melancholy; she doesn't want to confirm anything. "I'm fine, Matt, I promise," she swears, sending a smile that reaches her eyes. (Reaches them, but isn't sincere, not that Matt can tell.) "I just haven't been feeling well the last couple of days. I think I caught a bug somewhere."

Matt's not sure he believes it, especially given that her happiness had dwindled the moment Tyler left, but he gives her the benefit of the doubt. He has to. "All right," he says slowly. "But just…you know you can talk to me, right?"

Caroline smiles again, but this time it's genuine, albeit small. "I know," she replies. "Thank you. I'll be back to normal soon."

Matt nods and kisses her on the cheek. "Mind if I eat with you?"

"Oh…" Caroline murmurs, fingering the jacket again. "I'm not all that hungry. And I promised I'd meet Elena before class—she said she had something to tell me. As always."

Matt gives a hesitant laugh and looks over Caroline's shoulder, where Elena sits grinning next to Stefan, eating a sandwich of her own. "Yeah. Elena," he says. "No worries, I'll catch you later."

"Sounds good," says Caroline, tossing her lunch in the trash and hefting her backpack over her shoulder. "Bye, Matt."

She leaves without a kiss, a hug, or anything resembling the goodbyes they'd given each other since they started dating, and Matt sits down on the bench, frustrated and upset. He really does want to believe that she's just sick, but he can't help but bring to mind all the times he'd seen Caroline and Tyler talking, Tyler emitting a smile from Caroline that she'd never given him. A smile holding glee, but also secrets shared between just the two of them.

He wonders when it all went south. One minute he and Caroline were doing fine (ish), the next…he just wishes he knew _what_ made Caroline suddenly start hanging out with Tyler. His best friend had, yes, lessened his whole douchebag routine, but that couldn't be the _only_ thing. There was something between them that Matt can sense but can't pinpoint, and it's maddening.

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><p>Tyler's empty seat stands out like a flickering neon sign. Caroline takes in none of what her teachers lecture about—not that she has been the last couple weeks, either, but now especially—just stares at it. Like the longer Tyler's gone, the more it stands out. Mocking her.<p>

Caroline forces herself to look away angrily, at herself this time. When had she turned into such a pining weakling? She's a _vampire_ for God's sake, and she's goddamn _Caroline Forbes_. Just because she and a certain werewolf had gotten close recently doesn't mean he deserves her sorrow. _He_ left _her_! Besides, she's mad at him. Sort of.

Which is another issue in and of itself. She doesn't regret what she said to him, or even the vehemence behind it—not only was she physically hurt and exhausted, but emotionally. He'd turned his back on her, hadn't done a single thing to help. She'd be completely justified in never wanting to see him again.

And yet, she wishes she had a chance to clarify. She wanted him gone, certainly, but not _forever_. She just needed a while to calm down. Surely they'd grown close enough for her to allow him an explanation even if there didn't seem to be any logical one. But instead, he obviously saw in her face something that told him she was completely done with him, and just…_left_. Not even a goodbye. Not even a single letter. Not even a _text message_.

It's not like she can find solace in anyone else, either. Oh, Elena and Bonnie had definitely noticed she was down following Tyler's departure, and did the systematic "Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it? What can we do to help?" Caroline knows they mean well, but they just wouldn't understand. Bonnie's a witch and Elena's involved intricately with vampires, but none of them could fathom what's going through Caroline's head.

Neither of them had been forcefully turned into a creature of the night. Neither of them had killed someone because of urges they didn't understand. Neither of them had had their homes broken into by a werewolf in the form of someone they'd known since childhood. Neither of them had sat with said person while every bone in his body broke, every muscle tore, every organ shifted, bloodcurdling screams echoing off each wall and down to their very core. Neither of them had held him in their arms while he sobbed out the pain, trusting them wholly and completely. Neither of them had that unbreakable connection that ran deeper than friendship, or lust, or love, or family.

They just _couldn't understand_.

And it sucks. Because she's alone with this, and she's resentful that Tyler's left her alone to deal with it—of course, he's the cause anyway—and that she has no one else. She can't honestly say she _looked forward_ to the full moons (Christ what she'd give to take away the curse), but it was a twisted sort of normalcy in a world filled to the brim with the abnormal. As normal as a werewolf transformation can be, that is.

* * *

><p>It gets worse each day after the one she spent wallowing in the Lockwood cellar.<p>

The signs of that being that she returned to perky form after a while. Or, well, _outwardly_ returned to perky form. She began to find it took more effort to show how miserable she felt but tell people she was fine than putting on verisimilitude and feeling like utter shit inside. So she chose the latter.

And it worked. Elena and Bonnie commented on how much happier she was, Matt had a smile on his face, she even fooled Stefan (Damon didn't care one way or another). Which surprised her a little, but she's just glad she's got no one on her case anymore.

She just _wishes_ she'd have heard _some_ news. That he'd decided he was being an idiot and just come back. Or at least let her know through whatever means that he was all right. She still fully expects an on-your-knees groveling apology when (because it's a _when_, not an _if_), but for the meantime she'd settle for him just letting her know he's not dead.

It gets harder by the day, though, to stay blindingly mad at him. As that red haze slowly fades, she realizes the things she misses. Making him watch sappy chick flicks and him exacting revenge by making her watch bloody action films. Convincing him to start drawing again. Laying in the sun to relish her ability to live in it, trekking into the forest to watch the stars, relishing each night he didn't have to turn. Being able to share more of herself with him than anyone else.

To him, she's just Caroline Forbes. She's not Caroline Forbes the Vampire. She's not Caroline Forbes the Bitchy Twit. Just Caroline. He took the vampire thing in stride, had never shown anything but support in that regard, hadn't cringed at her casual mentions of bloodlust like Matt had. Her faults and her attributes, somehow, endeared her to him. And in kind, it was the same on her end.

He may turn into a canine when the moon is full, but that doesn't make him any less _Tyler_. The way his eyes flash amber every now and then when he's excited or happy (or angry, but it's never been directed at her), and how he's willing to lay naked before her—figuratively and literally—and know there will be no judgment. He may be a moron sometimes, but, somehow, somewhere down the line, he'd endeared himself to her. She doesn't know quite when, where, how, or why, but he did.

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><p>Matt noticing her change in attitude means he touches Caroline a lot more. Like when she went through her "upset phase," there was a fence around her that couldn't be breached, but now that she looks content, suddenly it's open season.<p>

It's nothing he hadn't done before, the same handholding and hugs and everything, but it grates on her immediately. She hates the continued comparisons she inadvertently makes between Matt and Tyler—it's ridiculous! Matt's her boyfriend and Tyler's not—but she can't help but do so. Tyler never overdid it. He wasn't a touchy-feely person by nature anyway, but he kept it all in moderation. He knew she's a headstrong, confident person who doesn't appreciate coddling, and respected it. Matt seems to think she's either a porcelain doll that needs to be protected, or like she's a scarf in a hurricane, threatening to fly away if he doesn't hang on tight.

They go out to dinner that night at the Grill—not a date, Matt assures her, even though they are, in fact, dating, and Caroline orders a salad but doesn't eat it. She tells Matt she had a big lunch. (Which is sort of true. She did eat a variety of Snow White's pets just prior.) He shrugs it off and digs into his burger.

He brings her home an hour later and kisses her square on the mouth. She hadn't been expecting it, unresponsive against his lips. He pulls away with a frown. "You all right, Care?" he asks.

She just nods. "Yeah. Sorry."

Keeping in line with his new if-she-says-she's-fine-she-probably-is policy, Matt smiles, bids her a good night, then drives away.

She makes it just inside her door before she slides down to the hardwood.

It wasn't the kiss itself that gave her pause. It was her reaction to it. More accurately, her lack thereof. The traitorous part of her brain makes her remember the feeling of Tyler against her. There wasn't anything particularly forceful about his, but there was a sense of urgency, of deep-seated desire there, like if she gave him just an inch more, things would have gone in a very different direction. And she hates herself for that, because she _shouldn't_ be comparing Matt's kisses to Tyler's, there shouldn't even have been a Tyler kiss in the first place to compare it to.

Yet she can't erase it from her mind. No matter how hard she tries, her lips still tingle from his, her body remembers the scorching heat his body gave off, the way all rationality had shut off, her only comprehensible thought being _Oh God yes._ Kissing Matt has always been…pleasant, and she's never taken issue with it before, but then, she's never really had something to contrast it to. Matt's are timid, almost tentative, like he'll break her. Tyler knew how strong she is, how she can handle herself, and it showed. He held back only by virtue of not knowing how she'd respond.

But she felt the need there, the need within herself as well, the untapped potential to match each other strength for strength. Tyler had never held any illusions of her. He understood her vampirism gave her certain abilities, he understood his lycanthropy gave him certain abilities, and took advantage. And despite the fact they're supposed to be mortal enemies, she felt none of that, and neither had he. He was unabashedly passionate and impulsive where Matt was unsure and wary, and she wishes that weren't the case.

She wishes she only had eyes and thoughts for Matt. But she can't truthfully say that's the case anymore. From the moment Tyler kissed her—honestly, even before that—she knew a different, a higher, bar had been set. She wishes she could, could say that it was a mistake and that Tyler had no right and that she didn't enjoy it and that she feels violated because it should have been Matt, but…she can't.

She'd been perfectly fine just being friends, and then he goes and does _that_. She doesn't know why she responded the way she did (doesn't want to examine why), but try as she might, she doesn't regret it. There's no denying it: they have something. Something that can't quite be explained, but is irrefutably there, transcendent. Suddenly everything with Matt just seems obsolete. Less. She still enjoys his company, to be sure, and it's not like Tyler's manning up anytime soon, but some part of her is always with him, whether intentional or not.

* * *

><p>By the time Mrs. Lockwood has her fall, Caroline is convinced her son's never coming back. It's better that way. To not dwell. She has a life, she had a life before Tyler, and she's sure as hell not going to be <em>defined<em> by him. She's better than that. She has more self-respect than that. She lost a best friend, yes, a someone-more, yes, but that doesn't mean she's going to stop living. Tyler's never coming back, fine. She can deal. She can deal just fine. She's Caroline fucking Forbes, and a boy, one who _left_ at that, is not going to dictate what she does.

So she goes to visit his mother. Mrs. Lockwood is, after all, almost as much a mother to her as her own. (Not that that's exactly hard to do, considering Liz might as well be absentee, but the sentiment holds true.) She owes her at least a visit and some nice flowers.

Feeling thoroughly upbeat for the first time in a long time, she drives to the hospital with her favorite song blasting from the radio, and pulls into the lot. She's already planned out what she's going to say—"How are you feeling, Mrs. Lockwood?" "I want to throw you a coming-home party, Mrs. Lockwood." "I'm going to run by the florist's in a bit to get you some flowers, some nice pink ones to brighten up the room, Mrs. Lockwood."—and that's that.

What she's decidedly _not_ anticipating is to see _him_. To nearly _run into_ him, more accurately. She stands there for a few moments, staring into his so-familiar brown eyes, all the emotions she'd felt after his bailing, the ones she'd done her best to shut away, crashing over her again.

He looks just as shocked as she is, though she doesn't know why—he should expect that she's here, not the other way around. Yet she doesn't focus on that. She focuses on the look of relief, or remorse on his face. It almost makes her forget everything. Makes her want to throw her arms around him and tell him to never leave again. To tell him how much she needs him. She wants to tell him everything and nothing at the same time.

But all she can manage is…

"Tyler…?"


End file.
